A Day In Italy
by WallpaperGoesOrIDo
Summary: "Everyone in Italy seems much happier than you!" Yamamoto and Gokudera enjoy a fun-filled-read:dramatic-day in Italy.


Disclaimer: I don't own it. (sob).

Gokudera's started thinking in Italian again.

And he hates it.

Being back in the country of raucous laughter and plates of pasta the size of small tires and over the top affection is beginning to drive him nuts, serving only to convince him that he _has_ to be more than a quarter Japanese. But now his mind has betrayed him, and all of his carefully cultivated Japanese is beginning to float out his ears and into the gutter while his thought process has been reduced to the flighty, extravagant language of his youth.

Gokudera does not want to remember his youth. Others seem to think it's because he was the victim of some particularly traumatic event that scarred him for life. This really isn't the reason though. He just didn't really like his childhood, simple as that. And it's because of this that, like the sight of his sister makes him projectile vomit, Italy and all its customs make him very grumpy. More grumpy than usual that is.

Yamamoto though, idiot that he is, loves it. He loves the huge servings of food covered in a half ton of parmesan and he loves the way Gokudera sounds when he cusses out the goddamn motorcycle riders cutting him off and he loves how even though Gokudera is trying to distance himself he fits in here better than ever. Yamamoto hopes that he doesn't look too out of place. He voices this concern to Gokudera who grumbles something snarky before shoving his hands in his pockets and speeding up.

"Haha, come on Gokudera! Tell me the truth! Do I look like a tourist?"

Gokudera has to stop himself from answering in Italian.

"Of course you do you moron. You're practically yelling in Japanese and you step every three seconds to point at something and _no one_ in Rome would ever be caught dead with that fucking stupid grin."

"I've seen lots of people smiling! Everyone in Italy seems much happier than you! Haha!"

Gokudera wants to say that's a good thing because he doesn't want to be like these people, the people that he wasn't good enough for. But he's not bitter; nope, not at all.

"Whatever. Let's keep moving."

He strides ahead, his hands compulsively grasping and his wrists twisting. He'd smoke but he knows Yamamoto would give him that stupid fucking look and raise his eyebrows and he'd end up putting it out anyways. He breathes in deeply every time they pass someone sucking carelessly on a cigarette and wishes fervently that he was on this errand of a mission by himself.

Yamamoto is meandering along behind him, with eyes wide and mouth gaping open. He seems in awe of everything the city throws at them, from the ancient architecture with its scribbling of hundred year old graffiti and the aura of past times to the cacophony of sounds and scents colliding like two particularly malevolent and stubborn winds, forming a storm as fierce as it is beautiful. It really makes Gokudera sick.

"Will you hurry the fuck up. We have to meet this Talerico guy at noon and it's already half past eleven." The snarl is evident in his words, he doesn't even have to turn around.

"We have plenty of time. Quit worrying!"

Yamamoto has stopped to look at some table full of knick-knacks, his hands wandering over them, never touching. With a poorly concealed sigh, Gokudera stalks over to him and grabs him by the arm.

"I said we need to hurr—"

Gokudera is so intent on reprimanding his partner that he doesn't notice the men who've suddenly stopped moving around the perimeter facing the two of them until the gunshots start. In a matter of seconds Gokudera's feels a sharp, intense pain and the hand that was gripping Yamamoto goes slack. His mind is abuzz and he's frozen—_some right hand man you are—_until Yamamoto drags him down violently, talking a mile a minute and roughly pressing a hand to his shoulder.

Gokudera looks down. There is bright red blood dripping all over his clean white shirt. He doesn't even feel anything. He can't hear anything. He can only see Yamamoto's lips moving and his eyes tight with concern and the ground littered with fragments of broken glass from the table they've taken cover behind that serve only to reflect all of the red.

In another instant Gokudera's mind snaps back in play. The pain is suddenly immense and distracting and there is a constant stream of, "-Gokudera, Gokudera! Are you okay? We need to get out of here. Please say something, are you okay?-" and for Christ's sake, they're still being shot at and he's spent the last minute in some sort of dopey haze.

"Let me up." His face contorts as he maneuvers himself onto his knees. His breathing is coming out harsh and uneven and the flow of blood has yet to stop, but they're not gonna get anywhere until something is done about these fucking assassins. Gokudera shoves a hand into his pocket and his other underneath his shirt, producing several sticks of dynamite. In a moment, they're lit (though not as quickly as he could've if he'd had a goddamn cigarette), and braves one peek over the table, that's held up surprisingly well, and notices the nearly empty street, save for three men who seem to have think their job is done, because they're coming closer. He grins, and flings the explosives over.

There is a brief second when Gokudera winces and worries because the silence is so unsettling, but then he hears the gasps right before the huge wall of sound. The screams are all cut short and Gokudera chuckles darkly before remembering their own predicament. He turns to say something to Yamamoto, but the man is already pulling Gokudera up. When he stumbles and curses from the pain, a hand going to his shoulder, Yamamoto quickly bends down, and before Gokudera can ask what he's doing, he's being lifted into the air and Yamamoto is fucking running down the street and into a car that's pulled up for them, because apparently Yamamoto took the time to actually call someone while Gokudera was having a mini panic attack.

As soon as the door has slammed shut and all that can be heard is the smooth purr of the engine and their loud breathing, Yamamoto turns to Gokudera with wide eyes and says "I guess people like to shoot at us no matter what country we're in, huh?"

Gokudera just laughs.

Author's Note: I wrote this on a whim, and it's not very original and it's filled with run-on sentences and also has no plot! But hey hey! That's okay! I hope you liked it anyway! Thanks for reading and, as always, please review!


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